I met my man when he was barely a “man,” that time when hope was all we had, dangerous venture as the society painted it, “use your head” was my mother’s theme song, I was convinced that there’s but a brand of love our society understands and appreciates, the brand of love that is with very little sacrifices, nobody wants a love journey with too many compromises which leave the essence of love to wallow in despair.
I am optimistic in nature, almost too optimistic, my greatest asset as a result of this, is my instincts, hardly ever wrong although it takes me down a path no one except myself can journey through, my optimism made me decide to study forensics in school, made me a proud caregiver for the dead and ultimately helped me own my own Funeral service company. It is till this day a party I thread alone, only that monies made is easy to spend for my folks and foes. My instincts when followed helps me understand what really is meant for me and how to filter the distractions from the ‘outside’ that may come with it. All my accomplishments happened against the wish of those who swear to love me and want the best for me but here we are; courtesy my indefatigable instincts.
My weird, outrageous but conscious instinct presented Kongi to me, it made a lot of effort for me to not say ‘No’ even in the face of doubts, mixed feelings, and fear - Kongi, a boy from the hood, the boys our mothers warned us to not associate with growing up, those type that we prayed against; a boy whose street I seldom pass except out of lack of options, I briskly walk on it, at a pace nearly as fast as a run. How we managed to meet is a mystery to my mother, she could not handle that we managed to talk, got close; so much that we built a relationship out of it; my mother believed that we were on a train headed for a wreck.
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